


Mise-en-scène

by somedaysomewhere



Category: X1 (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Best Friends, Falling In Love, Feelings Realization, Friends to Lovers, M/M, i honestly don’t know what this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:16:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24296476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somedaysomewhere/pseuds/somedaysomewhere
Summary: Something has shifted—he knows it from the tightness of his throat and the way his hands are itching to be held.
Relationships: Cho Seungyeon | Seungyoun/Han Seungwoo
Comments: 16
Kudos: 117





	Mise-en-scène

The question comes to Seungwoo while they’re cuddled on the sofa, watching a Godard title about misfits, clinging to each other like honey on spoons. The story isn’t even that romantic, and yet, all he registers is the tension and how it translates to them, particularly to the closeness of their bodies. Suddenly, he becomes hyperaware of the arms wrapped around him. _What does proximity mean?_ Before, he’d answer the usual: friendship, company, fondness. Now, he feels something else trickling—a little of what makes people giddy with daydreams.

Daydreams aren’t new to him. As a filmmaker, he stitches hundreds of them for a living. But these days, his mind churns them out relentlessly, always starring a boy with tattoos on his skin. They range from the silly, such as Seungyoun’s habits of cracking his joints and batting his eyelashes, to something more detailed, like his face when he’s producing songs or how he wipes his lips after sipping coffee. The constant flashes crowd Seungwoo’s brain, and he wonders if it’s possible to run out of room for everything else.

“This scene is a classic,” Seungyoun murmurs, reinforcing his hold on him. Their movie nights often consist of these: an obscure picture on the wall, sporadic conversations and an unhealthy amount of touching.

Seungwoo nods, careful not to hit the chin atop his head. “It truly is. It was the reference for that dance break in Pulp Fiction.”

“Godard inspired a lot of directors, it seems.”

“Yeah. He knew what he wanted to do, and he did it extremely well.”

They’re on their fifth Godard for the week. While Seungyoun isn’t too keen on new wave or experimental cinema, he has a soft spot for the nostalgia of the French director’s works, often dragging a lethargic Seungwoo to a marathon. Truth be told, Seungwoo has already seen all of them (a secret he’s keeping from him), but he doesn’t mind rewatching, especially if it gives him an excuse to snuggle. 

“Didn’t he have a muse? There, the actress in the fedora hat,” Seungyoun remarks, pointing to a woman with kohl-lined eyes.

“Ah, yes. Anna Karina. Did eight films with him, which critics interpret as the stages of their marriage. According to them, it was falling apart by the time of Pierrot Le Fou, and soon after, they separated.”

“Are you open to that? To having a muse, I mean.”

“If a person moves me to the point where I’m willing to create something for them, something that will be distributed to and consumed by the public, then I don’t see why not,” Seungwoo shrugs, causing the blanket to fall off his shoulder. “Of course, that means they’ll be cemented to my professional career, even if the relationship itself disintegrates. But if it’s someone I really adore, I think I’ll be okay with the risk.”

The running projector serves as the apartment’s only light, rendering the space dark and full of shadows. Seungwoo reaches for a handful of popcorn, taking a swig of beer in between bites. The contrast between the cold air and their warmth makes him shiver, and he burrows further into Seungyoun’s embrace, his back flush against the younger’s chest. Something has shifted—he knows it from the tightness of his throat and the way his hands are itching to be held. 

The movie is down to its last few sequences, showing vignettes of insouciance and alienation. He refocuses just in time as the leads board the train, with Anna Karina reciting his favorite line:

Things are what they are  
From time to time, the earth trembles  
Misfortune only resembles misfortune  
It's deep, deep, deep  
You long to believe in blue skies  
It’s a feeling I know quite well  
I still believe at certain times  
I still believe, I must admit  
But I can’t believe my own ears*

In the quiet, his heart unfurls. Seungwoo ponders about proximity again; about how recently, it carries affection and tenderness. He has an impulse to cradle a certain face, to bring it close and study it, like he always wanted. Instead, he places a palm over where he thinks the trachea is situated, hit with a sudden dyspnea. Realization strikes him right then. The screen fades to black, and along with it, the dam collapses.

  
  
  
  


“Are you sleeping?”

“No.”

“Then why are you silent?,” Seungyoun asks, pausing the file. He’s in the middle of unveiling what he’s worked on for the past six months—a full-length album. 

Seungwoo cracks an eye open, adjusting his position to face him. “It’s called immersion, Seungyounie. Also, we’re only on the first stanza of the first song. There’s hardly anything to say yet.”

“I guess I’m excited to hear your reaction,” Seungyoun admits, scratching the back of his head. He looks more at home in the studio, surrounded by dials and panels.

“And you’ll get it,” Seungwoo assures, reclining back on the seat. “Just after I listen to the entire thing.”

Seungyoun has been making songs since they were in college. He had an account on a music-sharing platform back then, where he uploaded everything from covers to mixes to self-composed songs. It was his initial attempt at publicizing his music—Seungwoo remembers his nervous hands as he read his first comment. Thankfully, the reception was mostly positive, which in return pushed him to save up for better hardware and further hone his craft. He continued doing this until a label contacted him. Just like that, he was tied to a three-year contract.

Of course, the term ‘just like that’ is a euphemism, a way to cut the story short and sweep other matters under the rug. In reality, both of them are running towards their goals, trying to grasp even a pinch of their dreams. If he’s to be frank, they’re still distant. Recognition doesn’t come easily, even when they socialize with the right people, even after working to the bone and giving it their all. The most heartbreaking thing about creating is when no one even sighs at their works.

“There are three left,” Seungyoun announces, slotting the next tracks in. “Number four is Pool, number five is Different and number six is Meaningless.”

Pool starts with a synth solo, followed by a steady beat that accompanies the younger’s vocals, which ultimately melds together to form an upbeat sound that’s reminiscent of cocktails and palm trees. Seungyoun switches between singing and rapping; from his normal range to falsetto—a transition that gives Seungwoo goosebumps every time. It’s a good summer background, one they could play on their trips, with sand in their hair and sun on their skins.

In contrast, Different is restrained. It’s more of a ripple that resonates, an ebbing tide that slowly envelops the listener in. Seungyoun knows how to modulate his voice, beginning low and progressively growing higher as the rhythm ascends. The flows are similar to a wave. Oddly, it makes Seungwoo feel as if he’s floating, disconnected from himself.

And then, Meaningless. Suffice to say, it tears him apart.

It’s so simple and so raw that it hurts. Seungyoun opens up about his demons and struggles, backed by a pared-down tune which only highlights his words even more. Seungwoo is privy to them all—he’s witnessed him go through these cycles from the sides, helpless and unable to do anything but offer company. For him to talk about it, more so let people be aware of it, speaks of his resolve and strength. One never really leaves these things behind; like some strange weather, they materialize just as quick as they dissipate. Nevertheless, Seungwoo is proud of how far he’s come.

“So, what do you think?,” Seungyoun asks, interrupting his reverie. The coda reverberates throughout the room, and Seungwoo takes this time to compose himself.

“As how twitter users articulate it, my wig is snatched. ROTY 2020.”

“You shithead,” Seungyoun chides, bursting into a laugh. He perches on the arm of the la-z-boy where Seungwoo is seated, proceeding to flick the space between the older’s brows. “Be serious. Is it lacking?”

“Honestly? This is your best work yet.”

Seungyoun gapes. “Really?”

“Yes,” Seungwoo nods, becoming solemn. Seungyoun deserves everything, the world included. “I won’t be surprised if it gains attention.”

“Well, that’s what I’m wishing for. I only have a year remaining in my contract.”

“Are you renewing?”

“I’m not in the position to decide that, sadly,” Seungyoun says, grimacing. He buries his face in his palms, burdened by pressure. “I’ll be flattered if they want me to. If not, I’m going to apply for auditions.”

“Whatever happens, you’re going to kill it.” Seungwoo takes the other’s hand in his, interlocking their fingers. He puts on his most reassuring smile, hoping it’s enough to comfort him. Despite the hardships, he’s steadfast in the belief that they’ll make it one day.

Seungyoun squeezes himself into the tiny space left on the recliner. Shocked, Seungwoo moves aside as a reflex, but he’s immediately halted by the arms that cage him in. A forehead rests on his chest, and he relaxes, eventually returning the gesture.

Frankly, he should’ve expected this. Acknowledgment tends to be dramatic, turning what was a single drop into a sea. Seungwoo flutters his eyes shut, sinking into the waters of his emotions. It keeps on pulling him in, which is terrifying because he doesn’t know the depths it wants him to reach. Still, he lets himself drown. It’s not like he can resist anyway.

  
  
  
  


“Hyung, when is the premiere again?”

Seungwoo retains his gaze on the laptop screen, busy corresponding to emails. “June 25.”

“Eh? That near? There’s three weeks left.”

“Yup. We already have a linear film based on hours of footage, and the soundtrack has been added as well. All in all, we only have a fourth of color grading to do. Three days tops and we’re ready for screening.”

“That’s good. But didn’t we agree to not work during breakfast?,” Seungyoun says, placing the spatula on the counter. He’s whipping up a—well, a sandwich with a name Seungwoo has long forgotten, thanks to the morass of documents.

“Technically, it’s only breakfast for you. I had a banana and a cup of coffee while you were asleep.”

“You can’t consider that a meal,” Seungyoun protests. “I’m warning you. You should set that aside once I finish.”

Seungwoo doesn’t respond.

“Hyung.”

“Okay, okay. I heard you loud and clear.” He resumes typing, his fingers a blur above the keyboard keys. Truthfully, the paperworks are nearly done. He just has a penchant for riling the younger.

“What do you prefer: a croque monsieur or a croque madame?”

“In layman’s terms, Seungyounie.”

Seungyoun rolls his eyes. “Would you like your sandwich to have an egg on top? Fried or poached?”

“No eggs please.”

“A croque monsieur then.”

They return to their respective tasks, letting the sound of utensils and message alerts fill the kitchen. Usually, cooking will depend on who’s available or who isn’t lazy, but both of them are capable of preparing simple snacks. Their only rule is: when they’re home, all meals should be eaten together. It’s easy to get wrapped up in work and other stuff, and this is their way of updating each other.

Seungwoo concludes faster than he anticipated. However, he doesn’t turn his laptop off and waits instead for another round Seungyoun’s complaints. Unfailingly, it comes after a minute. 

“Okay. Food is complete. You know what that means.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Don’t you ‘mm-hmm’ me, Han Seungwoo. I’m not giving you your portion until you bring that to the living room.”

“Can’t I leave it here?”

Seungyoun shakes his head, holding a plate in one hand and a bread knife on the other. Combined with his pursed lips, it’s a comical sight. “No. You’ll be distracted.”

“If you want to monopolize my attention, you can say so.”

“Seungwoo-hyung.”

“Alright, I’m moving,” Seungwoo remarks, extracting the gadget from the scene, concealing a smile. He’s delighted whenever Seungyoun gets fussy. It makes him feel cared for, like someone is actually worried about him.

The spread is already laid on the table by the time he returns. Served in colorful plates, the sandwiches and mixed greens look appetizing. There’s fresh coffee on the side too, brewing in a kalita wave dripper. Admittedly, after a nonstop review of distributions and logistics, he missed the stillness of an early Sunday breakfast. There’s something about the peace it brings—somehow, it centers him, setting his mind to where it’s supposed to be.

Or, who knows. Maybe it’s because of the person beside him.

Seungwoo doesn’t know when the world began to rotate in a different direction, uprooting everything he’s known and throwing his emotions into a turmoil. But it occured—unprecedentedly, sharp and precise as a weapon, lying in wait to be discovered. Seungyoun, who had always been important to him, somehow found a way to become an even more integral part of his life. 

Maybe it started back in university, with them finding time to hangout despite their different schedules and majors. Seungwoo recalls the bar where they first had a taste of alcohol; under the red light, Seungyoun confessed his plans for a tattoo of his parents’ birth years. He showed up with bandaged arms three days after, in pain but healing. Since then, Seungyoun would tell him his reasons behind every ink.

Or when only twelve people showed up to Seungwoo’s first short film screening, and he broke down, thinking that filmmaking wasn’t really meant for him. Seungyoun held his hand throughout his ire and tears, squeezing once in a while to pacify him. When he became tired of speaking, the younger took over, humming as they walked to the train station. He didn’t stop until they parted. Months later, Seungwoo came across the song on the radio, and he only realized then that it was one of his favorites— _For Lovers Who Hesitate._

Maybe it was during his twenty-fourth birthday. He wasn’t a pleasant host that night, and yet, Seungyoun was patient, exchanging stories with him until dawn. All they had was seafood soup and sprinkle chicken, but it remains as one of the most memorable days of his life. Holding a cupcake with a candle, Seungyoun sang him a birthday song, his voice settling in the crevices of his brain.

Or later, when they signed the lease for the apartment after several budget considerations, and out of exhaustion, they ended up on the same bed for the first (and last) time. Seungwoo spent the whole night awake, memorizing the cartography of Seungyoun’s face, the lines revealing themselves like interpretations in a hazy dream. He didn’t understand it then—why it hurt when he looked at him and why it hurt when he didn’t.

But now, _god,_ he does.

Seungyoun breaks the egg with a spoon. He dips the bread in runny yolk before taking a bite, chewing carefully. He seems pensive, as he has been these past few days. It’s a subtle change: while he’s still his jolly self, there is hesitation in his movements. If Seungwoo didn’t pay enough attention, he would’ve missed it himself.

He can’t help but to fret a bit, but he also doesn’t want to intrude. Alternatively, he takes comfort in the thought that their friendship isn’t the type to hold secrets, and frustrations will be vented out sooner or later. (He says this as if he doesn’t have secrets too. But he thinks of it as biding his time rather than actually hiding per se.)

“How’s the album going?,” he asks, starting a conversation. For now, he’ll enjoy the moment. It’s their first time to share a meal after weeks, and they can’t spend it by staying quiet.

“Oh, it’s doing better than expected,” Seungyoun answers, pouring more coffee into his mug. “It sold a thousand more copies than the last mini album, and the numbers are still rising.”

Seungwoo stops mid-bite, brows shooting upwards. “What? Wow, that’s crazy!”

“I think I almost broke the chart’s webpage from how much I refreshed it. I pinched myself a couple of times too. But yeah, it’s real. I thought I was dreaming.”

“See, I told you. It’s your magnum opus.”

“Hyung, have you listened to the album?” Seungyoun stares at him thoughtfully, his eyes catching a twinkle that Seungwoo can’t comprehend.

“Huh? Didn’t we do that in the studio?,” he questions, confused. It was only two months ago. Surely, his memory can’t be that bad?

“Ah, yes. That happened. But I added one more song to the official release. There’s a seventh track.”

“Eh? What’s it like?”

Seungyoun suddenly busies himself with a vase full of sunflowers. He puffs his cheeks while facing away, a habit he does when he’s shy. “I’m not giving you spoilers. Go listen to it yourself.”

 _There he goes again,_ Seungwoo muses. But nonetheless, Seungyoun looks genuinely jovial, and that’s enough to ease his worries for the meantime. He fixes his gaze on him, creating films in his head—of him blinking, of the sunlight streaming through the windows, of how a room breathes when he’s in it.

Daydreams aren’t new to Seungwoo. Sometimes they’re mundane, such as him and Seungyoun happily spending their days like this. Like videotapes, they’re stored in his mind, playing over and over until he can’t think of anything else.

  
  
  
  


Seungwoo can be a very obsessive person. If one cared to dissect his films, they’d find a recurring theme of pursuit. Someone is always chasing something. It’s no different this time—the scene opens with the protagonist staring off into space, questioning his existence. The next sixty-five minutes follow him as he searches for what it means to live.

He doesn’t find it in the end. Instead, he gains people who unwaveringly support him as he continues to unfold aspects of himself. One of them is a music producer, joining him in navigating the rocky path of success. Really, Seungwoo couldn’t have made it more obvious. And he intended it to be. It’s his way of divulgence.

He understands it now, this dancing around they’ve been doing since god knows when. The seventh track, aptly titled _Daydreaming_ , was Seungyoun’s admission—a soft ballad which sings about a love that’s finally within reach. It was difficult, but Seungwoo waited until he could return the sentiment with the same gravity.

And after all the stalling, he thinks they got the message across at last.

  
  
  
  


He locates Seungyoun outside the auditorium, leaning next to the announcement board, surrounded by huge standing posters. Even without his usual flashy clothes, he’s easy to spot, which isn’t too surprising with how much time Seungwoo spends mooning over him. Apprehension stirs somewhere in his chest, but he pushes it down, latching on to the courage he worked hard to build. There’s no turning back now—all of their cards have been dealt. 

“Hey,” he says, skipping steps to reach him faster. “Have you been here long?”

Seungyoun looks up from the mobile screen, returning the phone to his pocket. His hair is way longer than when they first met, and Seungwoo can’t wait until he’s finally allowed to card his fingers through them. “A bit. But it’s okay. You had people to talk to.” 

“I hope the movie didn’t make you sleepy.”

“Of course not. I didn’t even blink,” Seungyoun jokes. His voice is a little breathless, and his gaze holds an intensity it didn’t have before.

Seungwoo has watched over a hundred confession scenes in the past. Aside from the cheesiness, they have one more thing in common: sincerity. He reminds himself that he only needs to be honest, which has never been a problem when it comes to this person. With that, he inhales deeply, closing the distance between them.

However, the silence stretches on. _Fuck._ How does one downsize an expanse of yearning into a few words?

Seungyoun must have sensed his dilemma. He intertwines both of their hands, staring at it before meeting his gaze. He’s always been the braver of them—commencing paragraphs, unfolding histories, going after what he wants. With just a question, he succinctly begins a story.

“If I made you a song and you turned me into a film, does it mean that you love me too?”

Seungwoo almost cries. He meets him halfway this time, gripping the back of his head and pulling their faces close. His veins thrum as their lips connect; the world diminished into a swish pan shot. He grins in between kisses, feeling like a moth in the middle of the flames, only that he didn’t combust, defying all the laws of physics.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> *the words are from a French song called J'entends J'entends, as narrated by Anna Karina in Bande a Part (dir. Jean-Luc Godard)  
> *For Lovers Who Hesitate is a song by Jannabi. please give it a listen. it’s good!
> 
> another attempt at something sweet? i didn’t have a clear direction for this one and i think it shows. apologies in advance. also, i purposely didn’t discuss the ‘seventh track’ in detail. let’s leave it as a secret between them hhh
> 
> stay at home and stay safe ♡ [twt](https://twitter.com/visibleblues)


End file.
